Didn't Mean to Make You Cry
by itrysometimes
Summary: Baz throughout the years. What do our personal items say about our personal lives? A psychological analysis. (No, not really.) -H OH ALSO please check out my profile on Wattpad for some OG stories: @-StressedHuman-


Baz always carried two things with him: a flask and a pocketknife. The flask was in case he got thirsty or hungry. It was for emergencies only, in case there weren't any rats to drain blood from where he was. The pocketknife was to help fill the flask, but it also served as a tool. For protection, to ease the lid off the flask when it was frozen shut, to fidget with when he was bored. That was how he arrived at Watford as a small, scared first-year. With a flask and with a pocketknife.

When he learned who his roommate was, he simultaneously fell head over heels and started plotting Simon's death. He also added a new item to his bag, along with the flask and pocketknife. Nestled among his schoolbooks sat a ring. If anyone asked about it, he would say it was a piece of junk he won at a Normal arcade. And it was. But it was also to remind him of Penelope Bunce, whose magick all came from a ring she wore. Because once he remembered Bunce, he remembered Simon. And he never wanted to forget Simon.

Once, during Baz's first year, there was an incident in which someone- he strongly suspected Simon- has inadvertantly blown a hole in the wall. The Mage had sent everyone back to their dorms while he investigated. Baz had found himself clutching the ring as one would a rosary.

During the summer before second year, Baz's bag was almost stolen by a bunch of numpties. He resolved to never let go of the ring, which had attained a sort of sentimental value. He never wanted to let go of it. The flask, he was fine with losing. Same with the pocketknife. Perhaps he _could _lose the ring without a big fuss- it _was_ cheap copper, after all- but he didn't want to. If he couldn't have Simon, he could at least have a ring. A stupid fucking ring. He wanted Simon.

Second year brought with it tidings of change. Simon- Snow, Baz had to keep reminding himself, he's never going to fall for me anyways- was called away to fight some sort of magickal war with the Mage. Baz started to carry a mirror with him at all times, because in a Normal children's book he had once read, mirrors could be used as portals to communicate with loved ones elsewhere. He had tried to convince himself that it was stupid and failed. And because it wasn't a big mirror, about as big as a fingerprint, he glued it onto the ring. Sometimes during class he would glance down at his hand and catch a reflection of himself staring right back. Once or twice he mistook the reflection for Simon.

Baz tried to chuck the ring and mirror a few times. He could never bring himself to do it. Once, he got up the nerve and immediately went back after it almost as soon as it had left his hand.

When Simon came back to Watford with the Mage, tired and sweaty and triumphant, Baz wanted to kiss him. Instead, he cursed him. Simon never took it badly. Baz loved that about him.

By third year, Baz had become so accustomed to wearing his ring that he didn't even know it was there. But he added a new item to his collection that year, a gift from Penelope Bunce. Over Winter Break, she had given him a snowglobe, perhaps in the hope that they could be friendlier towards each other in the future. It was a little skyscape of New York City, Manhattan from the looks of it. Baz loved it but doomed it to stay on his shelf forever. He perpetually wondered why she had chosen an American city. Not that it mattered.

Sometimes, at night, when Simon was asleep, Baz would take the snowglobe down from its prestigious spot on the shelf and shake it, snowflakes falling in a plastic wonderland. He wished he was there with Simon Snow. He wanted to hold hands and kiss and run around under the Chrysler building. He wanted to go there someday. He _would_ go there someday.

Baz was pissed off at Simon most all of fourth year. He had started going out with Agatha Wellbelove. Agatha Wellbelove, of all people. Sure, she was nice, and he supposed she was pretty, not that Baz paid any attention at all to girls, but _Agatha Wellbelove? _He didn't know what Simon saw in her. Fourth year was a jealous year, a year of steaming and stewing and plotting how to break them apart. Baz felt stressed out, and he was positive it was Agatha's fault. Well, Simon's too, but Baz wasn't about to blame Simon. He didn't like feeling stressed, though, so he started carrying a stress ball in his back pocket. His father was livid.

"You use Normal remedies enough," he had screamed, "that one day you're just going to become one!" Baz didn't particularly care. He liked being able to fidget.

Fifth year. Baz hated how he still liked Simon. He didn't even need the ring anymore- his thoughts were always on him, on his blond curls and freckles and smile. Baz didn't mind the mirror or stress ball, either - as much as he hated Simon putting himself into danger, he wasn't scared anymore. Simon getting called away for business with the Mage was becoming a lot more common. As far as Baz knew, Simon handled himself fine every time. He still didn't like it, but he could handle it.

On an outing to a shopping centre that year, Baz bought Simon a new bag. "For you, idiot," he told him when asked about the wrapped present on his bed. "Your bag's a mess and I couldn't bear to look at it any longer."

Baz triumphantly lay in bed that night. Simon had- if a little cautiously- accepted his gift. The bag wasn't extremely high quality, but it was the thought that counted. He hadn't even expected Simon to take it without checking for hexes first. He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling when Simon used it the next morning. Perhaps they _did _ have a chance together after all. But Simon was still dating Agatha.

Sixth year. Agatha and Simon were in the early stages of a breakup, Baz could just tell. He anxiously awaited when Simon would burst through the door and he could comfort him. Baz got a ream of nice stationary and started drafting a love letter, but stopped before he could mail it. He burned it for good measure. He, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, was not about to make a move on a boy already in a relationship. Not even an anonymous one.

So. There he was. Sixteen with a stress ball and some sheets of paper in his bag. On his hand, a six-year-old copper ring covered by a mirror. A snowglobe in his dormitory. He felt like a mess. _I am going to end up kissing or killing Simon Snow_, he told himself.

Seventh year was the year Baz's life started to take a turn for the better. Well, after he got kidnapped by fucking numpties, that is. Simon and Agatha were over each other without too much of a big fuss. And that moment in the forest when Simon angled his perfect freckled face into Baz's, oh, that was the moment Baz loved him more than anything, the moment it all made sense.

But then Simon learned that he was the Insidious Humdrum, or the Insidious Humdrum was him, it was all quite confusing, and off he went, once again, on an adventure. This time, they were together. This time, Baz wasn't left in the shadows, wondering what was happening out there. Maybe that made it harder. He didn't add any new items to his collection that year.

When Simon lost his magick, Baz gave his stress ball to him. Simon needed it more than he did.

The stress ball became worn, the paper old and unused. The snowglobe sat, dusty, on a shelf. Baz still never took off his ring.

Eighth year was a shitfest. Baz went out nearly every weekend to see Simon, who was considered a Normal now by the school. Having to be without him for a week at a time- sometimes longer- was unbearable. He told Simon, "I'm going to drop out. I will." Simon politely told him that he was not going to do anything of the sort, especially not on _his_ behalf. Baz had to get a new stress ball.

Baz walked out of an astrology class and headed to his dorm room once, when it was all getting to him. But he found it was too quiet without Simon. Baz couldn't sleep, either, without the sound of his incessant snoring. Baz almost quit school. Five times. But he didn't, because of Simon.

Baz kept his ring on through graduations and job interviews and birthdays and signing rent agreements. He knew he had promised himself to never take it off, but…

"Simon Snow, will you marry me?"

They sent out wedding invitations on an old set of sentimental stationary, of course.


End file.
